


Homesick

by poetrydivided



Series: Homesick [1]
Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: F/F, angst angst angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrydivided/pseuds/poetrydivided
Summary: The one in which Camila and Lauren have a complicated past OR Camila refuses to speak to her ex, Lauren, until she finds out she joined the army OR sometimes people do change, contrary to Pete Wentz's beliefs. (TW for brief mentions of war)





	Homesick

The first thing she notices upon waking is that her tattoo hurts. A lot. Shawn told Camila it would be sore for the next few days, but she didn’t think it’d hurt this much, like a scar that’s been scratched open at least five times. Her head is fuzzy, too, as if she’d been drinking the night before. She can’t remember much of the tattoo process, the events leading up to or following it. All she knows is her chest hurts, her head hurts, and the tattoo peeling just below her neck really hurts like a bitch. Camila sighs at the sunlight feeding in through the blinds of her shitty, worn-out window, in her shitty worn-out apartment, in the heart of a shitty, worn-out California. She reaches over her bedside table for her phone.

There’s the normal batch of messages from the group chat, including Shawn, Mani, and Dinah. There’s a late goodnight from her mom and her sister. And what do you know, Charlie was able to get Camila’s shift off. She scrolls down the list of notifications, opening her messages to reply to everyone, when she sees _it._

**_From: 841-789-4567_ **

_I know I’m the last person you’d want anything to do with right now, but we need to talk. I’m serious. Please hear me out. Call me, or text me. Do whatever. Just please- we need to talk._

Camila deleted her number ages ago and yet, just at the sight of the message, she knows exactly who sent it. Judging by the time it was sent, 4 A.M, she also knows the messenger was likely drunk, sleep deprived, high, or all three. It’s been three months since they last spoke, and neither of them have changed. Well, maybe Camila changed a bit. She did move into a new apartment, but that was just to get away from-

She shakes her head, angry at herself for even contemplating the person behind the text. She presses the green button on her phone. It rings exactly three times before being answered.

“I didn’t think you’d call,” She says. Her voice is definitely strained from the lack of sleep, but there’s already an air of hopefulness tugging at her words.

Camila replies, “Caught me in a good mood, I guess.” She allows a silence to fall between them, and when she realizes she’s treating the girl on the other line like a friend, she sighs sharply. “What do you want, Lauren?”

“I want a second chance-“ Lauren’s cut off by Camila’s flaring breath, and she quickly corrects herself. “But I know I don’t deserve it, and I know you’re not going to give me something I don’t deserve.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

“I miss you, Camila.” Lauren’s voice strains even more. “I just-…I don’t know. Can I see you?”

Camila’s answer is as sure and instant as a heartbeat. “No.”

“Camila, please-“

“No.”

“I just want to-“

“You want to what, Lauren? You want me to see you in person because you’ve changed? Because you think I’ll be less likely to argue in person? You did a shitty thing, Lauren! You’re a fucking shitty person for what you did to me-!”

Even though she can’t see her, Camila knows Lauren’s in tears.

“Camila,” Lauren takes a shaky breath. “I went into the a-“

“I don’t care what you did, Lauren. Just- stop, okay? Stop trying to communicate with me. Stop trying, period. Just leave me alone.”

“You’re not listening to me-“

Camila hangs up the phone without a second thought. A few moments later, after she’s caught her breath and her mind isn’t hazy with anger, she picks up her phone again.

**_From: 841-789-4567_ **

_I just got discharged, Camila. This is the only time I can see you until god knows when. I have two months until I start university in California. Please, think about it._

She grips the sheets of her bed, the word “discharged” floating about her head. Something rumbles in her stomach. Her chest. Maybe even her heart.

After she’s finished throwing up in her trashcan, she picks up her phone one last time.

_Okay,_  she replies.

**Okay.**

Her tattoo starts searing up again, as if the wound has been scratched open once more.

* * *

“What if she lost her leg or something?”

“Or she caught a disease?”

“Chill.”

Above all else, Camila doesn’t know what she’s expecting to see come noon. She does know, however, that her friends aren’t helping the situation.

“You can’t just say something like that,” Camila huffs, looking at her friends in the mirror. “This isn’t a fucking joke. It’s Lauren.” She shakes her head. Lauren, in the fucking army.

“I’m just saying, I think you should prepare to see her missing a limb or two. I mean, that shit can be traumatizing.” Normani’s and Camila’s eyes meet in the mirror, then slide away uncomfortably. Normani checks her figure, flattening her black tank top and bootcut jeans. She smiles proudly.

“Yeah, I agree,” Dinah doesn’t look in the mirror, instead focusing on Camila’s closet, her stance awkward; one foot is inside of the closet, the other inches away. “I mean, really, Mila. This is Lauren we’re talking about. Lauren. She doesn’t deserve respect.”

Dinah pulls out a T-shirt with a camouflage design, raising it high in the air so everyone can see. “Camila, I just found the perfect shirt for you to wear!”

Normani and Dinah laugh loudly enough to make up for Camila and Shawn’s silence, the latter of whom simply sits in the corner of Camila’s bedroom, on his phone, probably looking at art on instagram.

After a minute or two, Camila grumbles, “Get out.”

Normani and Dinah shoot her a you-cant-be-serious look.

“If you’re going to make jokes like that,” Camila continues. “Get out. No one hates her for what she’s done more than I do, but I’m not going to joke about her service just to be bitter. It isn’t right, and you two know it. So either leave, or stop joking about her.”

Truthfully, Camila doesn’t know how she feels about Lauren. Just because she entered the army doesn’t mean her past is erased- her mistakes magically forgiven. It doesn’t change what Lauren did, how she treated Camila. That’s not to say that joining the army means nothing, though. It’s a great sacrifice, and in a way, Camila is thankful for Lauren’s service, as weird as it feels. God, there’s too many thoughts floating about to conclude anything. After Normani and Dinah apologize, Camila turns to Shawn’s corner.

“Any input?” He puts a finger up, his eyes focused on the screen of his phone. He stays in that position for a few seconds, only moving to itch the fresh tattoo on his right shoulder. When he finally meets Camila’s gaze, he shrugs.

“Part of me believes she deserves nothing despite her service in the army because, while her sacrifice is, ah, heartwarming? Inspiring? I still heavily believe in that famous Fall Out Boy lyric, ‘seasons change but people don’t.’” He jumps out of his chair, his black skinny jeans audibly creasing as he walks over to Camila. “However, the less-emo side of me thinks, hey, why not? Maybe enlisting was her way of marking a new beginning.”

Camila stares at him.

“No bullshit,” She rolls her eyes.

“No bullshit!” Shawn throws his hands up in the air, tossing his phone in the process. “Well, that changes everything!” He moves behind Camila and starts playing with her hair, throwing locks of it around frivolously. The mirror they’re both staring at reflects the light in Shawn’s eyes as well as the glint from his chained necklace, hovering above his sleeveless black shirt.

He’s such an emo.

“Honest,” He says, the light fading. He always does that, says ‘honest’ instead of ‘honestly’ because it ‘makes him sound more street’. “If you come to believe she’s really changed, go for it. You deserve to be happy. But if she’s still as manipulative and gross as she was before, drop her. Don’t let the whole military thing warp your perception of her. As far as I’m concerned, war shouldn’t be glorified.”

From the inside of Camila’s closet, Normani shouts, “No politics!” “It’s not even…” Shawn begins, then sighs and presses a hand to his temples. He meets Camila’s eyes in the mirror. “You know what I mean,” He mouths.

Camila ponders this. She still doesn’t know what to expect in an hour. She can’t even picture Lauren missing a leg or a-

She shakes her head. Maybe that’s the point, Camila thinks. She doesn’t know whether Lauren will be meeting her on foot, on crutches, or in a wheelchair. But shit, it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything- not in terms of their relationship, or their past. Not how Camila views her. Maybe she’ll gain a bit more respect for the girl. That’s it.

Because as selfish as it sounds, Camila still resents Lauren for what she did. Nothing can change that. Not even war.

Camila reaches over to scratch her tattoo, but Shawn slaps her hand away.

Her leg keeps bouncing.

She’s spilled her coffee twice already, and she’s starting to think the extra caffeine of the three frappes wasn’t such a good idea. She keeps glancing from the clock- conveniently located above the door of the coffee shop- to her phone, as if secretly hoping Lauren will cancel.

She still isn’t sure why she said yes. Admittedly, yes, part of her agreed because she felt guilty or fearful or some combination of the two. If Lauren really is enlisted in the army, Camila knows firsthand that anything can happen. She knows how that feels, to have loose ends untied for too long, only to have them be cut entirely. She can’t live with that guilt. Not again.

“Shit,” Camila jumps down from her high-stool, rushing to grab a bunch of napkins. As she’s wiping up coffee from the table for the up tenth time, she notices a warm sensation running down her chest.

“Oh, for fucks-sake.” Now she’s rushing to stuff napkins down her blouse. Her _white_ blouse. Her _white blouse_ that’s now stained with fucking coffee.

Camila crouches down on the floor, partly because she’s trying to hide and partly because the coffee is completely overflowing onto the floor. Within moments, there’s a shadow lingering over the mess, and a girl’s voice rings out: “Let me help you with that, M’am.”

Fuck. Fucking shit motherfucking hell. Camila mutters, “I’m sorry,” as she’s focused on the floor, wiping like it’s her job. “My mind’s totally somewhere else today…”

“Coffee really was never your thing, huh?” Camila freezes. Her eyes widen and focus on a random floor tile. She holds her breath in, registering the voice.

Then she covers her face with both hands, only opening them a crack after at least one minute.

Maybe it’s because she was scared to see how war had treated Lauren, of all the horror stories her father used to tell her. Maybe it’s just the general anxiety that arises with seeing an old flame. Maybe it’s just how Camila is; but when she peeks through her fingers to see a perfect Lauren-a crouched, smiling, mobile Lauren-she drops her hands from her face and rushes to pull Lauren into a hug.

They’re kicked out of the coffee shop within seconds of reuniting, and Camila’s almost thankful for the quick disengagement. They don’t share any words as they walk along the business strip, searching for a place to sit. The only eye contact they make is when Lauren makes a beeline for a table outside of some pizza joint.

“Do you want anything?” Camila hears Lauren unzipping her jacket, but she doesn’t dare look up from the table. “I could get you a slice, or a drink or…something.” Camila simply shakes her head, biting her lip.

This is so insane, she thinks. Lauren; a fucking trooper; here; in front of her. This is real. This is happening-

“You’re afraid to look at me.”

This catches Camila’s attention. She clears her throat, her eyes still pinned to the table.

“No…of course not-“

“Then look at me.”

Camila closes her eyes, bracing herself. Truthfully, she is afraid; of staring too long, of finding imperfections or worse- new perfections she hadn’t realized before. She’s afraid of finding Lauren beautiful in a way that she shouldn’t; in a way that opens a door that should remain locked.

But fuck it, she looks up anyway. Of course, her eyes are still there, but Camila doesn’t want to talk about Lauren’s eyes. Not just yet. So she begins from the waist up, taking in the way Lauren’s clothes are big on her- her black crop-top goes down to her skinny jeans, which are a bit too baggy to be noted as “skinny”. Her face is thinner, too, to the point where her cheekbones are far too visible. She’s probably lost twenty pounds since training began.

They always say that the eyes are the window to the soul, but in Lauren’s case, it’s her entire face. Her lips are like pink chalk, faded and crumbling. There are scars everywhere: a small red one just to the left of her nose; a thinner but longer one stretching across her right cheek. Even from a distance away, Camila notices a thick, short, angry scar seared across her let ear.

She’s scared to look into her eyes, so she settles for the area below them. Camila gasps. She’s never seen bags so deep and dark. This is when she meets Lauren’s eyes.

“Lauren…”

But her eyes are worse than Camila could have expected: sad, colorless, distant orbs, more like glass than anything else. Camila wants to shiver, or cry, or just-

Hell. She can’t help herself. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

A look of shock sweeps over Lauren’s face, her mouth slightly dropping at a loss for words, her brow rising with her pale eyes.

After a moment of contemplation, she laughs.

She fucking _laughs_.

“Halfway through training, I asked myself the same thing.”

Camila snaps, “I’m fucking serious, Laur! I mean, look at yourself! Have you slept at all? Are you eating? Are you-“

“Camila,” Lauren struggles to find Camila’s eyes, and she shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

Camila scoffs. “No, you’re not! You’re not ‘fine’- you don’t look ‘fine’, you look tired and you’re talking too seriously like you’re emotionless or something and you’re covered in scars and-"

Neither of them quite know how it happens, but in an instant Camila feels Lauren’s arms around her and, in her mess of hysteria, she latches on, allowing herself to sob. But sob out of what? Of guilt, for forcing Lauren into the army? Of hurt, for Lauren having the audacity to enter the war without telling Camila first? Of shock, because Lauren’s here, hugging Camila, claiming she’s okay when she looks like a mess?

After what feels like forever, Lauren pulls away and lifts Camila’s chin, forcing the girl to look at her. “Hey,” She says softly. “Jet-lag and a few scars. That’s all, I promise.”

Camila forces herself to breathe. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Her voice is like an untuned guitar, high-pitched and whiny.

“I’m with you, aren’t I?” Lauren fakes a laugh, brushing an eyelash away from Camila’s cheek. When she sees the serious look on her face, Lauren clears her throat and pulls her hands away. “Yes,” She says. “I’m sure I’m okay.”

Camila nods and wipes her face with one hand, the other one reaching over to itch her tattoo.

* * *

“I still resent you for what you did to me.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Just because you went into the army doesn’t mean your past is erased.”

“I understand that. I’m just trying to make amends.”

“What if I don’t want to make amends with you?”

“If that were the case, would you really have agreed to meeting with me?”

“…What if I just wanted to talk to you in case you die or something?”

“That’s the reason I wanted to talk to you, isn’t it?”

“What if you die, Lauren? What if we never get back together and you die in a few months in some crazy bombing?”

“If I die,” She pauses, taking a sip of her drink. “Then at least I have no regrets.”

* * *

It takes one month before Camila caves.

“You kissed her?!” Dinah grabs a fist of her hair, ripping out a few strands as she waves her arms in exaggeration. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Camila crosses her arms, almost embarrassed for confessing. “She’s changed, Dinah. What do you want me to say?”

“She’s changed,” Dinah scoffs. “That’s such bullshit and you know it. Are you forgetting all the things she’s done to you? God, she ruined your life and now you’re willing to look past it?! The hell is wrong with you?”

“Dinah-“

“She’s pulling this whole army veteran bullshit to guilt-trip you into a relationship. I hope you know that.”

Camila freezes, her head tilting as she scans Dinah’s features. Dinah nods, as if silently conveying that yes, she means what she said.

Anger floods Camila’s voice, making it heavy and strangled. “You haven’t spoken to her in years, Dinah! You don’t know her like I do and yeah, sure the whole army thing spooked me into meeting with her. But that’s all. She didn’t ask me to fucking marry her, to fucking fall in love with her. She’s changed; I don’t have to prove that to you.”

“See! That’s the whole thing- the army thing spooked you into meeting with her! That’s fucking toxic, Mila!”

“Jesus Christ,” Camila mutters under her breath, running a hand through her hair. “She could be dead in a year and you really wonder why I agreed to meet with her? I’m not going to have loose ends, Dinah. I can’t-“ She waves a hand, her voice catching in her throat as she recalls her past. “I can’t go through that again.”

And you’d think Dinah would stop at the sight of her best friend on the verge of tears. You’d think she’d calm down, take a moment to breathe and realize her irrationality. But shit, when you’re heartbroken, irrationality doesn’t exist. Dinah pushes on.

“Oh, so this isn’t about Lauren! Nah, it’s about your Dad?”

Camila doesn’t hesitate. She screams, “Yeah, Dinah, you know what? It fucking is! God forbid I don’t want someone I love to die without knowing I cared about them!”

A painful memory flashes in Camila’s mind: her dad in a hotel room, fresh out of the hospital. Tearful yelling, doors slammed, the only “I love you” shared when Camila’s locked in the car. Her father’s funeral a few days later-

“You didn’t love Lauren when you first-“

“No, I didn’t,” Camila steps closer to Dinah, edging the taller girl backwards until she hits a wall. “But two years ago I did and, yeah, she treated me like a piece of shit. She ruined my life, you don’t have to remind me of that. But no matter what, I cared about her and- god. You know why I agreed to meet with her? Because her life is on the line and I’m not going to let her die without knowing how much I cared about her- without her knowing how important she was to me.”

Dinah seethes breathlessly, “She made your life a living hell-“

“Yes, she did. But I loved her, I loved her even when she was stabbing me in the chest over and over again.” Camila says slowly, “But at the end of it all, I’d still rather tell my worst enemy how much they’ve had an impact on me in person, rather than at their funeral.”

That seems to fan the flames of their argument. Camila breaks away from Dinah, opting to sit on the bed closest to the door. She had agreed to meet with Dinah at this shitty hotel earlier. Now, Camila wonders how much the other guests have heard about her life. After a few moments, Dinah mutters, “You’re really in love with her.”

“Yeah, I am,” Camila nods. “Is that really so bad, Di?”

Dinah shakes her head, her eyes building up with tears. “You can’t-“

“I mean,” Camila continues. “She’s changed so much since everything happened and, hell, I love her. I love her, Dinah. And she loves me. Why can’t you just let us be happy together?”

Dinah takes a deep breath. Her eyes focus on the floor. “Camila…”

“She means the world to me. It’s been a month, and she already means the world to me-“

“Camila,” Dinah snaps, catching Camila’s attention. She shakes her head, losing her words. “I…You can’t…”

Camila’s scared now on account of two reasons: one being that Dinah never stutters like this, as well as the fact that Dinah never loses an argument. She never gives up this easily. “What is it?”

“Camila…” Dinah shakes her head again, all color draining from her face. She looks like she’s about to puke. “I’m…I have-“

Camila knows what she’s about to say. She shakes her head viciously, as if to persuade Dinah. _“No,_ ” The corners of her mouth rise faintly, quickly falling when Dinah nods. “Don’t.”

“I should’ve told you sooner, I-“

But Camila doesn’t want to hear it- can’t hear it, not right now. She rises from the hotel bed, her hands raised in surrender. As she’s walking out the door, Camila hears Dinah crying.

“Mila, please! You can’t walk away from this.”

And yet, she does.

* * *

Camila’s in Lauren’s arms, in Lauren’s bed, in Lauren’s apartment. Half of the popcorn bowl is emptied by the time she finishes telling her story.

Lauren sighs heavily before replying. “Is everyone in love with you?”

Camila laughs fakely, eyes glued to the episode of Glee playing on the laptop screen at the end of the bed. She plays with Lauren’s hand as she says, “Guess I’m hard to resist.” The words are meant to be sweet, but they leave a bitter aftertaste in Camila’s mouth.

Lauren squeezes Camila’s hand. “You know you have to talk to her eventually, right?”

“You sound like Shawn.”

Lauren snorts. “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I allowed you to avoid your problems?”

Camila sighs. “A shitty one.”

Lauren murmurs, “Exactly.”

“I just, I can’t even process it right now, you know? What kind of person tells you they’re in love with you the moment you get a girlfriend? That’s just…ugh.”

Lauren’s eyes dart away from the laptop screen, instead focusing on the sheets of her bed. She hums in agreement.

“And the way she tried to sabotage us! I mean, she’s supposed to be my best friend first, before anything else.”

Lauren hums again.

“…Maybe I should just try to make out with her tomorrow. What do you think, is that a good idea?”

Lauren hums again, then, processing what she’s heard, sits up and disconnects from Camila. “Wait, what?”

Camila raises a brow.

Lauren chuckles, allowing herself to relax back into her girlfriend’s grip. “Sorry, it’s just…”

She takes a moment to admire Camila in this moment. Camila, in Lauren’s baggy band t-shirt, some frilly shorts, and of course no socks because they “give her anxiety”. Makeup-free Camila. Sleepy Camila. Camila, Lauren’s girlfriend.

Lauren sighs. “Can I ask you something?” Camila raises her brow again. She hates it when Lauren says things like that, far too serious. She nods.

“You know I never meant to…guilt you into anything or…-“

“Stop,” Camila squeezes Lauren’s hand.

Lauren bites her lip. “Camz, I only told you about the army thing because-“

Camila cuts her off with a kiss; a real kiss, one that lets Lauren know just how Camila feels about her.

“I love you, for you,” She kisses her again, her hands gripping Lauren’s cheeks. “Meeting up with you because of the army thing- that was my decision. You know I could’ve said no.”

“But-“

“No,” Camila kisses Lauren again. “I fell in love with Lauren. Not stationed trooper Lauren, not manipulative guilt-tripping Lauren. Just you, a fucking beautiful, amazing girl who I think, in fact, is the best thing since sliced bread.”

A moment passes where the two girls hold each other’s gaze. For the first time in her life, Lauren actually feels comfortable. And for the first time in her life, Camila feels secure.

Lauren smirks. “You really think I’m better than sliced bread?”

**Author's Note:**

> ummm yea I might continue this??? at some point???I Guess?? thanks for reading tho seriously feedback is always appreciated thanks!!! (this was originally posted under my Tumblr(ifyouhadazuneihateyou) on 5HFanfiction)


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